


Bend the Knee

by lovelydarkanddeep



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Body Worship, Cunnilingus, Emperor Kylo Ren, Empress Rey, F/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Renperor, Reylo - Freeform, Reylo Fanfiction Anthology, Throne Sex, Valentine's Day RFFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 23:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13512150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelydarkanddeep/pseuds/lovelydarkanddeep
Summary: The Force whips at him, presses him down quicker than he can blink. Leaves him prostrated on his knees before her. In her Force grip, his head is forced up, his eyes for her and only her.“I️ will have you on your knees for me, Ben Solo, or I️ will not have you at all.”





	Bend the Knee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cuddlekylo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlekylo/gifts).



Ren finds her in the throne room, glistening like a star.

 

She wears a gown, radiant in its splendor, deep sapphire folds rippling like a waterfall of silk down the stairs of the dais. Her bronze hair is adorned with jewels, twisted into an intricate updo of curls that he  _ itches _ to release with a simple tug of his hands. He loves her hair down, best.

 

Instead, he sweeps up the dais, capturing her pink lips in a kiss, drowning in the taste of her - like shuura fruit and honey.

 

When he finally pulls away, her pupils are blown, their hazel almost entirely obscured. Nevertheless, her voice shows none of the lack of composure he reads in her gaze.

 

“Is that the way you greet your Empress?”

 

His lips quirk, ever-amused by her, before he sweeps into a mocking bow.

 

The Force whips at him, presses him down quicker than he can blink. Leaves him prostrated on his knees before her. In her Force grip, his head is forced up, his eyes for her and only her.

 

“I️ will have you on your knees for me, Ben Solo, or I️ will not have you at all.”

 

He feels a lick of anger curl in his stomach, but he cannot hold onto it. Not when she is this beautiful, this  _ powerful _ .

 

“Do you wish to try again?”

 

She doesn’t wait for his answer, already knowing what it will be. Her Force grip relents as suddenly as it came, and he manages to not fall to the floor in front of her, keeping his composure.

 

He shifts onto one knee, before taking the back side her hand and pressing it to his forehead in a gesture of fealty and respect.

 

“My Empress.”

 

There is a curl of affection through their bond, sweet and dizzy as it courses through him. It is like a drug, saccharine and fueling him.

 

She shifts slightly upon the throne, and he  _ knows _ what she wants, even if she will not deem to ask.

 

Slowly, his hands part the silk that covers her legs, baring first one and then the other golden thigh.

 

She is bare beneath, glistening pink and fresh.

 

He groans, low in his throat, taking in the sight of her.  _ Beautiful _ in her juxtaposed submission and power.

 

He drags her to the edge of the throne until her legs are splayed apart on either side of it like a feast baiting his hunger. They hook over his shoulders, her slippered heels digging into his back to push him closer to where she wants him.

 

He lowers himself, and the first lick has her moaning lowly. Her hands immediately find their usual home in his silky locks, pulling tight, with little regard.

 

His tongue undulates, drinking her like the finest wine, like nectar, honeyed and sun-ripened. Sable eyes look up from where he worships her, clashing on her own.

 

The sight of him between her legs, in the public expanse of their throne room, has her groaning louder, uncaring as to who hears or what consequences might arise.

 

There is only the Empress and the Emperor, as always was and forever will be.

 

He takes his time with her. Slow, languid licks that have her rolling her hips against his mouth, begging -  **no** \-  _ demanding _ more.

 

He does not relent though, prides himself on this power he has over her more than any other. The power to make her desperate, to make her come undone beneath him.

 

She is not a quiet thing, instead a beautiful creature of mewls and moans, echoing his name in the expansive room around him.

 

He knows that, if he really tries, he can make it so that everyone knows. Can make her loud enough, crescendo until not one of their subjects doubts what could be happening in their gilded throne room.

 

He smiles against her, lips curving upwards languidly at the very thought.

 

A lick of the Force against her clit has her hips jumping. He pins down the unruly things with his large hands, caressing circles into her silk-covered hipbones, hands slipping over the material.

 

She utters a strangled cry as he sets the Force against her clit with due focus, tongue continuing to caress her with a more than wild abandon.

 

She is shaking, crying out, the picture of pleasurable pain as he continues his ministrations.

 

“Kylo…Kylo  _ please _ -“

 

_ What pretty manners _ , he thinks to himself, his smirk growing against her once more.  _ It’s a shame you don’t use them more often. _

 

“K-Ky-lo,” she manages, hands tightening until his head is locked to her cunt, drowning in the scent and taste of her.

 

He chuckles, the vibrations making her squirm harder, bucking practically.

 

_ Scream _ , he says to her, and she complies.

 

She shatters around his agile tongue with a cry into the gilded aether-chambers of their cathedra, echoing and echoing and  _ echoing _ …

 

He only pulls away once she stops spasming, chin smeared with her essence, shining against his lips.

 

She lays panting, eyes still closed, head thrown back and curls askew.

 

He has never seen such a striking, breathtaking sight as she. Dripping with an afterglow of power.

 

Her eyes flutter open, glossed with bliss and something akin to drunkenness. Their honey depths speak of ancient things and lost memories and sordid secrets.

 

He wonders, not for the first time, what he would be -  _ who _ he would be - without her.

 

The thought is laughable, improbable,  _ inane _ . Him without her? Why, there would be  _ nothing _ .

 

Like a compass that does not point North, a sun that sets in the East - a sky of stars without its darkness.

 

He has no need for religion, not with her at his side, but if he  _ were _ a religious man, he thinks that she would be his goddess. He could think of no greater deity he would want to hold his soul than in her starlit hands, burning and bright.

 

Her hand trails down to cup his cheek, her thumb gently caressing across his lips, smearing her own arousal.

 

“You look best on your knees, Emperor.”

 

He smiles, slow and steady.

 

“Only for you, my Empress. Only for you.”

  
  


 

**Only for her.**


End file.
